


Like Crazy

by Kerkerian



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Team as Family, breakdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Now that Jack is gone, Mac isn't doing well at all.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	Like Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.
> 
> This was inspired by the following quote from S02e21: 
> 
> Bozer: “Those two really don't do well when they're separated, huh?”  
> Riley “Oh, you have no idea.”

Jack being away hunting Tiberius Kovac is harder on MacGyver than he could have imagined. He misses Jack terribly, even more so than during his own stint in Nigeria. It's different when there's no way of knowing how his friend is doing, if he's safe, if he's still alive at all. They are trying to keep tabs on him, but Kovac's network is intricate and clever, as is Jack's modus operandi. Contacting him is impossible because they can't risk to blow his cover, and it's driving Mac nuts on some days.

It also serves to rekindle and amplify his own guilt about taking off and then not answering Jack's calls back when he was in Africa. In the cold light of day it makes him a bad friend and, worse, not a jot better than his dad, who basically did the same to him. Leaving without saying goodbye and then keeping radio silence? Not cool, on the contrary.

On some nights, this realization haunts him awake; he can never recall those nightmares, but they invariably include Jack and the feeling of utter despair, and invariably, Mac wakes up gasping and shaking, sometimes even weeping. He wishes he could tell Jack how sorry he is, how he'd build a time machine if he could, do things differently.

His friends are watching him with increasing concern. Mac pretends that he's fine, forcing himself to smile and appear relaxed, but he still looks weary and tense most of the time, and he withdraws into himself as much as possible. He's always been quiet, but now he only speaks when it is strictly necessary, and his ostensible nonchalance is not fooling anyone. It doesn't help that Desi and he have been off to a rocky start.

Bozer does his best to make sure he eats when they're at home, but he can't change the fact that Mac barely sleeps; often, when Bozer gets up, Mac is outside on the deck, wrapped in a blanket and looking at the sunrise but not really seeing it.

“We've got to do something,” Riley says about two months in. “He doesn't talk to us, he doesn't sleep, he barely eats-”

“I caught him punching a new hole into his belt this morning,” Bozer interjects. “'Cause it's not tight enough anymore.”

Matty nods, frowning.

“I take it no one's in favour of telling him to suck it up?” Desi asks, earning herself three identical glares. She raises her hands, her eyebrows disapparing in her hair: “Okay, okay. Just sayin'.”

“Look,” Bozer says, “it's not that we're pampering him, okay? Mac's not a wimp, he can handle himself. But this... my guess is that it's hitting too close to home, what with his dad leaving and all. Jack's been such a vital part of our boy's life, it must be brutal.”

“Didn't Mac go to Africa for a few months recently, all by himself?” Desi asks.

The others exchange a look: “Yes, he did.” It is Matty who speaks. “And he had his reasons.”

“Seems to me that he did well enough without Jack then,” Desi says.

Riley narrows her eyes: “He'd been through a lot,” she says fiercely. “He was hurting and confused, and my guess is that he isn't proud of it either. Everyone's allowed a mistake once in a while, and knowing Mac, he's regretting not getting in touch. And anyway, what's done is done, we should rather focus on the situation at hand.”

“I'm not criticizing,” Desi replies calmly. “It just strikes me as odd that he did that but apparently has such a hard time now that the situation's all but reversed.”

Riley and Bozer simultaneously open their mouths, but a voice from the door effectively shuts them up: “She's right,” Mac says quietly.

All eyes are on him as he slowly walks into the room; even his gait is off.

“Mac,” Bozer begins, but Mac shakes his head: “It's okay, Boze. I appreciate what you're doing, but it's true. I was being an idiot.”

His friends' hearts go out to him as he stands there: his eyes are bloodshot and he seems unaware that he has his arms wrapped around himself, looking weary and forlorn.

“I know that you all think Jack and I have a weird co-dependency going on, and that's probably true. While I was in Africa...” He takes a deep breath. “I wasn't myself. I was running away from too much pain. I felt unanchored, and it seemed unfair to burden someone else with it, even Jack... he's always been there for me, always bore the brunt.”

Mac's voice is unusually thin, brittle even. He sounds like he's at the end of his tether, and it's more than worrisome and also a little heartbreaking that he's telling them all this, after weeks of silence. He didn't intend to do so, but he finds that he can't stop, now that's he's begun. He feels like a traitor towards Nasha as he talks about Africa, but deep down, he can't deny it: true, he had feelings for her. True, she was soothing his bruised soul. Also true: he doesn't miss her nearly as much as he misses Jack.

“I haven't been a good friend lately,” he mutters, feeling disloyal, ungrateful and despicable. “To anyone. I'm sorry.”

Slowly, he lowers himself onto the edge of the table, feeling too shaken to stand any longer.

Matty looks at Bozer, Riley and Desi: “Give us a minute?” she asks quietly.

Hesitantly, they nod, leaving the room without talking; Bozer's eyes are on Mac until he's out of the door.

Matty blinds the windows, then she slowly walks towards her agent, coming to stand in front of him and regarding him sympathetically: “You can't go on like this, Blondie,” she says softly. “You're running yourself into the ground.”

Mac nods, not looking at her. He can feel himself tearing up, and even though it's humiliating, there's nothing he can do about it. He keeps returning to a point in his life where he no longer can't be in control, where things take a turn for the worse and he hits rock bottom. It was like that when his mom died, when his dad left, when his grandpa died, when Nikki seemingly died and then resurfaced, after he learned who his dad was and what he did all those years... and now.

He doesn't know why these things continue to happen to him, but he sometimes thinks that for all his high IQ and brilliance, life is still too difficult for him.

He balls his hands into fists, aware that Matty is waiting. His head is reeling; he should say something, explain how he doesn't want to be in this downwards spiral but how he's unable to stop it. He blinks; his eyes are burning badly, brimming with tears as they are, so he squeezes them shut.

A moment later, there's the rustling of fabric and Matty's familiar scent and an increase of warmth as she steps even closer and wraps her arms around him, and then there's softness and understanding and, strangely, a feeling of safety. It's too much and at the same time exactly what he needs; Mac's tense at first, but he gradually relaxes into Matty's embrace as he begins to sob, all the carefully constructed walls around him crumbling at once.

He doesn't know how much time is passing, but Matty never relinquishes her hold of him; she strokes over his back with her hand and quietly tells him that it's okay, that he should take his time, that he should let it all out. When he finally calms down, he pulls back of his own account, feeling exhausted.

“Thanks.” Mac's voice is raspy and flat. He ducks his head a little as he meets her gaze: “I'm sorry,” he then mutters, clearly ashamed about his breakdown.

Matty regards him with eyes full of sorrow: “Not at all,” she says softly, handing him a tissue. “ _I'm_ sorry, Mac. For everything that happened to you.”

Right. She _knows_ , after all.

Mac wipes his eyes: “It's not your fault,” he mutters, his voice flat and raspy.

“It's not yours either.”

At that, Mac's jaw begins to work in a tell-tale way, as if he's not so sure about that.

“Mac,” Matty says firmly. “Jack is a grown man who is capable of making his own decisions.”

Mac takes a shuddering breath: “If I hadn't... _run away_ \- if I had called him back at last once... Nigeria is not outer space, for heaven's sake...” His voice gives out momentarily. He breathes heavily: “He would have asked me to come along. Looking for Kovac, I mean.”

“You're no soldier.” Matty's voice is gentle, as if she hates saying this.

“I can be,” Mac replies, stubbornly, his eyes swimming again. “If I have to. And I could have helped. I know I could. I could have helped him, the way we always worked together.”

“Jack didn't want you to come along for a good reason,” Matty says. “He needs to know you're safe.”

Unexpectedly, Mac explodes: “That's bullshit!” he yells, jumping to his feet. “This job isn't safe, it never was! I'd be as safe being with Jack as I am here, doing what I usually do! And why do people always think they need to protect me from something? It sucks!”

Matty takes a few steps back because she hates having to look up at people with her neck craned. Mac is standing there, hands balled up into fists again, his whole body quivering: a picture of misery. She wishes she could make it all go away. Instead, her words will only add insult to injury, and that sucks as well.

“Yes, it does,” she says. “But in this case, it's what _Jack_ _needs_ , and since there's nothing else we can currently do for him...”

After a moment, Mac sags. It's a terrible thing to see: whereas his stance was defiant before, all the fight is now leaving him in an instant, and he hunches in on himself, his arms around his midriff once more.

Matty braces herself for what she has got to say next.

“As much as I'd love to,” she begins, “I can't promise you that Jack will come back. I need you to know that.”

Mac's voice is bare of any strength now: “I know.” It's still painful to hear it, after all.

“Good.” Matty's gaze is sympathetic and still full of concern: “There's something else.”

Slowly, Mac lowers himself onto the table again, listening.

“I'm responsible for the welfare of my team,” Matty continues. “Meaning every single one of you. You need to be at the top of your game at all times, or you're a liability.”

Mac nods, closing his eyes for a moment: he has an inkling where this is going, and Matty's next words confirm it: “I'm sorry, Blondie. But either you get a grip on yourself somehow, or I'll have to ask you to take a few weeks of leave.”

Mac doesn't look at her as he considers this, but he knows that she's right.

“I'll be fine,” he grinds out.

“I know you will,” Matty replies gently. “But you're not fine now. You're not even okay. You need sleep and sustenance and a bit of perspective.”

 _I need Jack to come back_ , Mac thinks. _I need my mom and my dad, and grandpa. I need someone else to be in charge for a while._

His eyes are brimming once again, and he hunches in on himself, unable to stop the fresh tears or the tremors that are shaking his body now.

He barely registers that Matty walks to the door and calls Bozer in, that people are talking. Everything's wrong, and he can't stop crying. More arms around him and a familiar scent: it's Bozer, who seems shaken for some reason, and amidst the voices around them, he's like a lifeline.

At one point, he pulls Mac to his feet, tells him that they're going home, and that's what they do.

Mac later doesn't even remember how he got from the war room into Bozer's car, or the drive. He only comes to himself once Bozer has made him lie down on his bed and tucked his comforter around him. He must have removed Mac's shoes at one point and closed the blinds, but Mac can't recall it happening.

He turns onto his side and curls his fingers around the hem of the comforter, staring blindly ahead. He knows what it feels like to fall apart, and it's horrible but strangely unsensational at the same time, every time. He's still breathing, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. The world's still rotating around its axis. Eastward, Mac recalls. Counterclockwise when viewed from the pole star Polaris.

Mac then lets his thoughts wander, thinks about solar days and angular speed, tidal interactions and cyclic variability, and then Bozer's back in his room, sitting down on the edge of the bed with an apprehensive expression, a glass of water and a packet of pills: “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, regarding Mac with eyes full of concern. “You with me now?”

Mac looks at him, taking in the other's familiar features: “I'm okay,” he mutters, “really, Boze. You don't have to babysit me.”

It's a tad disconcerting that Bozer doesn't raise his eyebrows and crack a joke at that. He just keeps looking at Mac: “I'm not babysitting you,” he says calmly. “I'm just here for you. As your friend.”

Something inside of Mac gives way right then, reminding him of how it was like this right from the moment they met. Bozer and he, thick as thieves, as his grandpa used to say. Bozer knows him better than most people, and Mac is grateful that he still wants to be here for him.

Unexpectedly, he lets go of the comforter and reaches for his friend's hand. Bozer drops the pills into his lap and takes it, and for a while, they just hold on to each other: Mac in order to ground himself, Bozer because secretly, he's tremendously relieved that Mac's not only acknowledging his presence but apparently is appreciating it. It was scary, earlier, to see him mostly unresponsive and withdrawn; he would have called an ambulance but was afraid that his friend might end up on a closed ward.

He's seen Mac in all kinds of distress over the years, but not like this. Never like this.

He vividly recalls his own words, spoken not too long ago: “Those two really don't do well when they're separated, huh?” and Riley's wry answer: “Oh, you have no idea.” And he wishes, not for the first time, that Jack will come back soon. He's learned not to be jealous of him; what Mac and he himself have is beyond comparison anyway. They've become brothers a long time ago.

Mac and Jack... that's way more complicated. But if Bozer knows anything about his friend, he knows that he's got an extra big heart, with lots of room in it. So Bozer can wish for Jack to come back without being jealous, on the contrary. He actually misses the guy as well, and they aren't nearly as close.

When Mac finally pulls back, Bozer picks up the tablet tube: “I got some sleeping pills, if you want any,” he then says, sounding almost timid. “Courtesy of Doc Sinderby.” He expects Mac to refuse, but to Bozer's surprise, he nods, taking one of the pills and downing it with half the water. He doesn't even ask when Bozer talked to the doctor; he seems depleted now, and maybe he just needs to get out of his head for a while. Some sleep will hopefully do him good.

“I didn't mean to spook you,” Mac says after settling down again. His voice is unusually feeble, his tone flat in a way that means he's exhausted and hurting more than he'd like to admit. As if all his energy goes into just breathing and _not_ curling up in a ball in a corner somewhere.

Bozer's expression softens: “Takes a lot more than that to spook me,” he says with a hint of his usual sass, but his eyes remain serious. And he can't stop himself from saying what's really on his mind: “I'm worried about you though. That's allowed when it's your best pal who helped you blow up the football field.”

“It was an accident,” Mac says, the ghost of a smile flitting over his face.

Bozer inclines his head: “Yeah. Still. You catch my drift.”

“Yeah.” Mac avoids his gaze at that. “Sorry, Boze.”

“Stop apologizing, okay? And for the record- you're the best friend a guy could have.”

Mac's still not looking at him: “Even though I also lied to you for a long time?”

“Didn't I tell you that being mad at you is like being mad a puppy? It's long since forgiven, really.”

At that, Mac meets his gaze, regarding him with red-rimmed eyes: “I don't know what to do,” he eventually admits.

Bozer sighs unhappily: “I don't know either. Just... get better, I guess. Talk to someone. Me, Matty, Riley, a shrink... or write a diary, maybe. Fact is you can't go on like this.”

They all seem to agree on that particular point. Mac closes his eyes for a moment, refraining from trying to explain how impossible everything seems right now. How he feels like he's fallen into a dark pit which is way too deep to find a way out again, and how much it sucks to be this helpless.

Instead, he talks about whatever else he can think of, which is easier to get across: “In the past, the days were shorter,” he says softly. “Earth's rotation is slowing ever so slightly with time, you know? It's only noticeable over millions of years, of course.”

Bozer, who thinks a lecturing Mac is better than a silent Mac, is clearly relieved: “Yeah? What's causing it?”

“Gravitational interactions with the Moon,” Mac replies. “It's causing tidal acceleration.”

“Acceleration? I thought it's slowing down!”

“The name's a bit confusing,” Mac conceded. “Let's just say the mass of the Moon is large enough, and close enough, to raise tides on Earth. In particular, the water of the oceans bulges out towards and away from the Moon.”

“Ah.” Bozer smiles. “And this is slowing us down?”

“It's part of the cause,” Mac says, sounding groggy now. “It's complicated.”

“'kay.” Bozer watches as Mac struggles to keep his eyes open but loses the fight as the pills are taking effect.

“Sleep well, Mac,” he says gently, tugging the comforter up a bit higher. “Love you, man.”

The corners of Mac's mouth quirk up ever so slightly at that, and Bozer's heart constricts. He also doesn't like to feel helpless, but there are times when he does, like this here. Mac's always been sturdier than he looks, but Bozer knows his susceptibilities.

During the day, they would go out for adventures when they were kids, having each other's backs and feeling strong just because neither of them was alone anymore. But for a time, Mac practically lived at Bozer's house, and things were different during the nights. The universe seemed an impossibly big and intimidating place, and sometimes, ghosts were roaming freely. Bozer knows how much Mac missed and still misses his mom, how deep a wound his dad's continued and inexplicable absence inflicted, how easily his friend can be hurt by the people he trusts. Even, or maybe especially when they don't mean any harm.

He just hopes that he, Bozer, is never going to be among those who hurt Mac so much that he loses his footing. He doesn't think he would be able to ever forgive himself.

 _It's true_ , he muses. _The people who are important to us are our kryptonite_.

There is no easy or quick solution to the situation. As per Matty's suggestion, Mac takes some paid leave, which is preferable to Phoenix-mandated counseling or suchlike.

He sleeps a lot at first, even without taking any more pills: Bozer downloads him some new audio books that he listens to until he drifts off, and he finds that his breakdown, though he feels rather mortified about it in hindsight, has been rather cathartic.

Contrary to his own expectation, he doesn't get bored. He tinkers with his bike, reads books he's had on his wish list for ages and builds Star Wars ships using ordinary Lego (though he's certain they'd look a lot cooler if they weren't multicoloured). It helps him to focus, using his hands and having to solve small, manageable problems. He doesn't miss Jack any less, and the void that his absence is causing is still there, tremendous and terrible.

Yet now that Mac has reached a stage where he has been forced to slow down and only take care of himself, he can start rebuilding his walls. Compartmentalize. Which is what he needs to do, with all that's going on in his brain. It's a well-known fact that there's only a fine line between genius and madness, after all.

Maybe one day, he will actually go and talk to someone, since he doesn't want this cycle to repeat.

His friends are watching him like hawks, even though they pretend not to be doing it, using every opportunity to spend time with him, and keep reminding him that they are family. Even Desi makes an effort.

And gradually, even though it's a bit much at times, it works. Mac feels less bruised after a while, and he looks healthier again, losing the air of fragility that was only emphasizing how haggard he had become.

About five months later, he is woken up one night because his phone pings. He picks it up, prying his eyes open only wide enough so he can see the caller ID, and answers the call: “Hi, Matty,” he says, gravelly.

“Sorry to wake you, Blondie,” Matty replies. She sounds strangely cheerful. “I've got a surprise for you.”

“At two thirty a.m.?”

“Patching you through,” she just says, and then another voice fills the nocturnal silence of Mac's bedroom: “No rest for the wicked, huh, buddy?”

“Jack?” Mac sits bolt upright. “Where are you?”

“On my way home,” Jack says, and his voice, though accompanied by a lot of static, sounds so achingly familiar and close that Mac hears himself laugh a tad hysterically: “Really?”

“Yeah, man. Finally took Kovac down three days ago.” A hint of fatigue is audible in his tone now.

“That's great,” Mac says, heartfelt. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, hoss.” Jack sounds downright tender. “Listen, I gotta go, but I'll see you very soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mac doesn't find any more sleep that night, but that's okay. It's the good kind of insomnia this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I am no Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> I haven't had the chance to see season 4 yet, therefore I don't know what happened to Mac's grandpa. I'm just assuming he's dead, but I don't think it's actually been mentioned in seasons 1-3.


End file.
